


Dressed for Sin

by lynne_monstr



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends, Flirting with the enemy, M/M, Magnus Bane looks real good in a tux, Trust, cameos by Isabelle and Raphael - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-27 11:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: A string of unsolved murders threatens twenty years of peace in the shadow world. Alec is determined to put an end to it once and for all. The only catch: all the clues point to the next one taking place at the biggest party of the year, and  he might be falling for the killer he's supposed to bring down.Meanwhile, Magnus Bane has his own agenda for the evening, and it doesn't involve being caught by Alec Lightwood.





	1. Shooter Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spiraled into something a bit longer than intended so I'll be posting it in chapters. I have the rest written so it shouldn't take too long. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks so much [Lakritzwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf) for looking this over for me! And to [CryptidBane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane) for organizing the 3B Countdown.

Alec smoothed a hand down the front of his starched white shirt, searching for a killer.

Large crowds and forced socialization weren’t his idea of fun, but as Head of the Institute it was his duty to at least pretend he was enjoying himself at the biggest Shadow World event of the year. Hence the grin plastered so wide across his face his cheeks ached. Privately, he liked to think of it as his recalcitrant Clave member smile. It had swayed more than one stubborn holdout to his side during long meetings.

The background lull of conversation and laughter roared to life as he entered the room, obscuring his ability to listen in on individual speakers for anything suspicious. The disadvantage darkened his already foul mood in a way that not even the large windows, with their view of the glittering New York skyline, could lift. The cityscape only served to remind him of his favorite rooftop at the Institute, with its quiet solitude and the comforting weight of his bow and quiver. This glittering banquet hall with its dance floor and its casino games couldn’t begin to compete.

Beneath his feet, a subtle yet steady rocking made him feel constantly off balance. Mentally, he added one more item to his list of grievances.

“I hate boats.” He must not have muttered it softly enough, because beside him Isabelle laughed.

In stark contrast to himself, she looked at home in her formal wear, hair piled high atop her head in a way Alec wasn’t convinced didn’t involve magic. It was no surprise that every head turned her way as they made their way across the main deck’s banquet hall. Alec nodded to several of his subordinates as they passed, and took note of the various influential Downworlders who he would need to make polite conversation with during the evening.

“You’re just grumpy the dress code doesn’t allow for weapons,” Isabelle said, one hand straying to her bare wrist where she normally carried her whip.

“Or steles,” Alec agreed. He keenly felt the absence of his thigh holster. His gait felt unbalanced without the familiar weight on his left side.

He felt even more vulnerable considering the string of attacks. Nearly a dozen Shadowhunters and Downworlders all dead in half as many months, and not even the full might of the New York Institute could find a definitive lead on the killer. Alec had his own suspicions, but without proof his hands were tied.

As a concession to current events, the security for this year’s annual gala was airtight. Ironic for a party meant to celebrate the twenty-year anniversary of Valentine Morgenstern’s death and the subsequent unification of the Shadow World. It meant no weapons or steles for the Shadowhunters, and for the Downworlders, an array of wards that dampened their abilities. A typical compromise that left no one happy.

“Are you sure it’s going to happen tonight?” Isabelle asked. It was less of a question and more a way to sooth Alec’s nerves, to let him go over the plan once more before they split up.

“We found a poker chip in the last victim’s mouth. It has to mean it’s happening tonight.” The memory of the last victim left a bitter taste at the back of Alec’s throat. The warlock had been found in a pool of blood, the stubs of his missing horns staring sightlessly like a pair of gruesome, gaping eyes. No one deserved that. “This bastard’s taunting us. We won’t get a better opportunity to catch him in the act.”

“I wish you weren’t doing this alone. We have dozens of people here tonight, they can—”

“You know as well as I do, we can’t be caught running an op tonight. Not during this party. Not without proof.”

“We have proof. The chip,” Isabelle said, careful to keep her voice low.

She wasn’t wrong, but their proof wasn’t enough to identify the killer. And while Alec could’ve used it to petition for a Shadowhunter team to be on duty tonight, he chose not to, opting instead to keep the information hidden. Up until now, every lead he’d chased down had gone nowhere in a way that couldn’t be explained by bad luck or coincidence. Someone was leaking information. Whether it was a traitor or a spy, Alec didn’t know, but he wasn’t taking any chances. If he wanted to end this, he needed to do it on his own. 

“It’ll be fine, Izzy. It’s just one Downworlder with his magic muted. Even without runes, how hard can it be?”

Isabelle’s unimpressed look told him exactly what she thought of that, but she didn’t argue as they parted ways near the edge of the dance floor. Alec to get the measure of his prime suspect, and Isabelle to gather information from her contacts.

A wave of shouts and applause rose over the background din. Alec followed the sound, grabbing a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter on his way to the room’s sole craps table. One of the players collected her chips and left, giving him a clear view of the man with the dice who was the source of the commotion.

It was a strange feeling to be consumed by red-hot rage while fighting against a pulsing wave of raw attraction.

The man holding court at the craps table was beautiful, his dancer’s elegance at odds with a sharp, broad figure that filled out every inch of his dark purple tux. A tux so fitted it was almost indecent. Even from a distance, Alec could see the glint of large rings on his fingers and the sway of looping chains at his throat, topped off by the silver flash of jewelry clipped high on one ear. A matching silver stripe ran down the side of his dress pants, drawing Alec’s eye over the expanse of muscular legs. The man laughed at something the dealer said, throwing his head back and exposing the prominent jut of his throat.

Alec’s breath caught, the room suddenly growing warm beneath the heavy fabric of his own much blander tuxedo. None of the pictures he’d combed through back in the Institute held a candle to the real thing. Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, was the personification of walking sin.

He was also Alec’s number one suspect in the Shadow World Slaughter, as it was being called.

_ Keep your head, Lightwood _ , he chided himself as he slipped through the spectating crowd.  _ Or instead of catching a killer you’re more likely to end up his next victim. _

Months of analyzing various crime scenes had given Alec a shortlist of traits to focus his investigation on. The assailant needed to be either physically or magically strong, to have held down the victims. They needed to be charismatic to have gained access to so many secure locations. They needed to be highly placed enough to silence the inevitable rumors that normally would have surfaced by now. And lastly, they needed to be highly intelligent, to have evaded Alec and his people for so long.

From everything he’d read, Magnus Bane was all those things. A man as deadly as he was gorgeous. Alec needed his wits if he was going to assess him without tipping him off. Stepping up to the table, he took the now empty space that was coincidentally right next to Bane.

“Hello. Who are you?” The words were drawn out, and it took Alec a moment to realize they were addressed to him.

He threw down handful of chips before turning towards his target.

“That’s a lie,” Bane said with a wink, cutting Alec off before he could speak. “I know who you are, Alexander Lightwood. Recently appointed Head of the New York Institute.” He held out the hand not holding his champagne.

Two could play at that game. Alec took the offered hand in a firm shake. Bane’s skin was silky smooth though surprisingly not without calluses.

“I could say the same, Mr. Bane.” Alec replied in turn. “A pleasure to finally meet the High Warlock of Brooklyn in person.” It was on the tip of his tongue to add a correction on the usage of his full first name but it hardly mattered. It’s not like they would be speaking for long. And after Bane was imprisoned for his crimes, they wouldn’t be speaking at all.

The dealer slid the dice to Bane at the end of long, curved stick.

“I’ve been meaning to come calling and offer my congratulations.” Bane looked Alec up and down without shame. “I’d have come sooner had I known what was waiting for me.”

Alec knew it for the lie it was. He’d reached out to Bane several times in his capacity as Head of the Institute, even more as Acting Head. Every call had gone ignored, every request for assistance filled by a lesser warlock sent in his stead. The man in front of him had little love for Shadowhunters, that much was clear.

With another wink in Alec’s direction, Bane tossed the dice across the table, not bothering to watch them rebound off the inner walls and roll to a stop near the edge. Cheers and whistles sounded around the table, drowning out any response Alec might have given.

Bane blew kisses to the gathered men and women, and Alec pretended not to notice that the last one was sent to him. He found himself wondering how those lips might feel, brushing featherlike against his own, and immediately chided himself. Thoughts like that would only get him killed.

More chips were stacked in front of Bane and he rolled again. The shifting of muscle beneath his tight purple jacket caught Alec’s eye. Clenching at the hard wooden railing around the table, he dragged his gaze towards the path of the tumbling dice and tried not to think about what the curves of those muscles would feel like under his hands. 

Yet again, the roll was good. More chips were stacked in front of them both. Alec had since given up using his own strategy in favor of mirroring all of Bane’s bets. At this rate, he was going to make enough money to keep the Institute running all year.

“So Alexander, care to explain how you’re getting around the ban on magic?”

“What?” Thoughts of Bane’s tree-trunk sized arms fled as Alec’s heart galloped in his chest, the frantic pace blaring warning sirens in his ears. There was no way this warlock could know about—

“I helped set up the wards to detect the presence of adamas at the security station, so I’m curious to hear how you managed to activate a glamour rune,” Bane interrupted his thoughts, the deep brown of his eyes glittering with mischief. “Surely a face like that can’t possibly be so handsome without a little angelic aid.”

The knot between Alec’s shoulders loosened. Flirting. Bane was flirting.  He didn’t know anything about Alec’s plans. If anything, Alec now knew Bane had a hand in the wards of tonight’s party. He let some of that satisfaction show on his face, lips curving into a dangerous smile. Seduction was more Isabelle’s game than his, but it was a useful tool and he wasn’t above using it. “You should be careful who you throw those kinds of accusations at. A man in your position should know better.”

“Oh, and what position is that?” Bane’s shoulders danced from side to side as he spoke. “I can think of several. You can even be on top if that’s what you like.”

A huff of genuine laughter slipped past Alec’s guard. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Please do.” Bane ran a hand lightly up Alec’s arm, ending with a light squeeze to his shoulder. His thumb slid along the shoulder seam of Alec’s jacket as he continued, “But you never answered the question.”

Alec could feel the heavy weight of Bane’s touch on his skin as if there was nothing between them, rather than several layers of thick fabric. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. The only thing that mattered tonight was that once Alec had the proof he needed, he’d make sure the man in front of him never saw the light of day again. But first he had to keep his interest. 

It wasn’t exactly a hardship.

“No magic,” Alec replied, deliberately stepping into Bane’s space. This close he could see the individual flecks of dark makeup shimmering on his eyelids and the way his lashes were too thick not to have some kind of product on them. He could smell the hint of citrus in his cologne. “Just natural charm.”

Bane’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Au naturel is certainly how I’d prefer you.”

A traitorous heat rose in Alec’s stomach that no amount of berating could douse.

And wow, Isabelle was right. He needed to get out and date more if he was finding himself thinking about pushing Magnus Bane’s purple jacket off his shoulders and shoving him up against the large windows overlooking the banks of the city. If he was thinking how it would feel to press his thigh between Bane’s legs and watch his heavily lined eyes widen in surprise and arousal. If he wanted to know how the stubble around that perfect mouth would feel scratching against his neck.

The sound of the dealer sliding the dice once more across the board was a welcome distraction. Alec stepped back and took a sip of his champagne to hide the heat he could feel creeping up his neck.

Bane rolled again and won again, all the while keeping up his easy banter with Alec. It was like the man couldn’t lose. Which is when it hit Alec, and he felt like an idiot for not realizing it before. Magnus Bane was cheating.

But not with magic, the mundane way.

This time, when Bane took the dice, Alec saw the sleight of hand that swapped out the rigged dice in his palm with the official pair that dropped down from inside his sleeve. Not long after, his winning streak was broken and the table was quickly cleared. The dice passed to the next player with no hint of the fact that a doctored pair had been in play the whole time. If Alec hadn’t been looking for it, he never would have noticed it either.

Pocketing his winnings, Bane turned to face him. “Alexander, I hope this won’t be the last time our paths cross.”

Alec nodded, his own chips already safely tucked away in his jacket. The accountants at the Institute were going to be out for his blood for all the paperwork this was going to cause. “Not if I have anything to say about it, Mr. Bane.”

“Please. Call me Magnus.” Bane pressed a card into his hand. It was a glossy matte black with a stylized cat’s eye and a phone number beneath it, both drawn in red. “Or even better, how about you just call me.”

It was only as Bane was halfway across the room, walking with a sway of his hips that should have been illegal, that Alec realized he could have turned him in for cheating.

And—when Bane turned to lock eyes with him, eyebrows raised in mock scandal—that Alec was staring at his ass.

.

It was a shame that Alexander Lightwood was the killer, Magnus reflected as he walked away from his successful run at the craps table. The Head of the New York Institute had eyes a man could drown in and a smile that was begging to be wrapped around Magnus’—

Business before pleasure, he reminded himself. Tonight’s business was all about catching a killer. There was sadly no little death on the agenda. Magnus had been analyzing the pattern of attacks and was convinced that the next one would happen tonight.

It wouldn’t be successful. Not if Magnus had anything to say about it.

Narrowing the field of suspects hadn’t been difficult. Pulling off those murders required a highly specialized skill set, and Magnus had already eliminated the upper echelons of the city’s Downworld leaders. Magnus himself also fit the requirements, but as he had failed to go on a murder spree, he felt fully justified in crossing himself off. Which left only the gorgeous Alexander right at the top of a very short list. Disappointing but not surprising for the son of Maryse and Robert Lightwood. It was only to be expected that their eldest was following in their cruel footsteps.

Approaching the poker tables, Magnus scanned faces for the surliest, most unhappy looking person in the crowd.

“Raphael, there you are.” He clasped his old friend on the shoulder, ignoring the glare sent his way.

Magnus always joked that Raphael’s default facial expression was the best poker face in the world, and apparently the man had taken it to heart. The pile of chips stacked in front of him spoke to a successful game indeed.

“Go away.” Raphael didn’t even look up from his hand.

“I’m winning,” Magnus said, just to irritate him. In fact, it looked like Raphael’s stack of chips might be the larger, but admitting it wasn’t his style.

“Even with your cheating, I’m in the lead,” Raphael said to him once the game concluded and they drifted over to one of the empty cocktail tables near the bar.

Magnus put a hand on his heart. “Cheating? Me? Never!”

“Save it.” To anyone else, Raphael’s face would look gruff, but Magnus could see the affection hidden underneath.

Magnus raised his hand to cast a privacy spell, but dropped it in disgust when he remembered the anti-magic protections he himself helped set up. The neutrality wards were a constant itch against his skin, but better to suffer through it than forego this year’s event now that he was finally one step ahead of the Shadow World killer. Celebrating two decades of a world without a genocidal madman and his hate group was the cherry on top.

If he had an ounce of sense, he would have built a loophole into the wards. He’d considered it, but in the end didn’t want to set that kind of dangerous precedent. All he needed was for word to get out that the High Warlock wasn’t honoring the neutrality and there would be hell to pay, both professionally and personally. Magnus didn’t fancy running around with a target over his head. It messed with his hairstyle.

He turned his attention to more immediate matters. “What did you find out in your poker game?”

“It’s like you thought. The werewolves are ready for war, the Shadowhunters are conducting their own investigation despite their denials, and the Seelies are restless. Everyone’s afraid.”

“We need to end this tonight. With all this paranoia and suspicion, who knows how long before the accords start to unravel,” Magnus finished for him.

“I heard the Seelies have started a retreat back to their realm.”

Magnus nodded. “Yes, I got a thinly veiled offer of sanctuary from them.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“Not worth the price of admission.”

“But not everyone will feel that way.”

They were in a pressure cooker and it was only a matter of time before it blew. Magnus rubbed at his temples to stave off the tension headache building behind his eyes. The last thing they needed was civil war, but the likelihood of that was increasing by the day. If the Seelies withdrew, the tentative alliances within the Shadow World would be more unstable than ever.

“And Elias,” Magnus prompted. “Any news?”

Raphael was somber as he replied, “Nothing. I’m sorry Magnus, I know how much he meant to you.”

The most recent murder had hit too close to home. Elias had been his friend and protégé. For all the bribes Magnus had thrown around, all he’d been able to scrape together was a single picture of the crime scene. What he saw made him sick with anger. Elias had been found in his house behind his wards with his warlock mark—his horns—missing.

A trophy kill.

He thought of sweet-eyed Alec Lightwood standing over a dead warlock, seraph blade slick with bright red blood. He couldn’t reconcile the slightly awkward man from earlier with that level of cruelty, but what else could he expect from a Shadowhunter. If his parents were anything to go by, he probably didn’t even consider someone like Elias to be a real person.

If only Magnus had gotten to the scene before the Shadowhunters had hidden everything away behind their locked Institute doors. Without physical evidence, there was no way to know for sure it was a seraph blade that did the deed. But the lack of proof only served to convince Magnus he was right. Why else would they lock down the evidence? Who else would take a warlock’s mark as a trophy?

After Elias’ death, finding and stopping the killer had become personal.

“Did you talk to Lightwood?” Raphael asked, voice low.

“Yes. He’s not armed. This shouldn’t be difficult. All I need to do is get him alone. With any luck, he’ll be the one to reach out to me.” He thought of his phone number, tucked away in Alec’s pocket.

“What’s the plan for taking him down?”

Despite every shred of better judgement, Magnus’ brain conjured a very different kind of going down that he could do. It certainly didn’t help that he enjoyed the easy back and forth of their conversation. The newest Head of the Institute had a refreshing sense of humor. It was a shame. Under different circumstances, Magnus might have liked him. There was something about him, about the way he looked surprised yet pleased at Magnus’ flirting. How he laughed that soft little half-laugh at Magnus’ lame jokes and kept sneaking glances when he thought Magnus wasn’t looking. 

_ He was probably sneaking glances to figure out how best to murder you _ , he told himself. Not that that was necessarily a deal breaker. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he indulged himself with someone out for his blood.

He truly had the worst taste in men. Not that his taste in women was much better.

“All the best ones are either taken or serial killers,” he lamented. At least once Alec Lightwood was executed for his crimes, it wouldn’t be Magnus’ problem any more.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “So you don’t have a plan.”

“Well I can’t use my magic while we’re stuck on this lovely river cruise. I’m going to do it the old-fashioned way.” He pulled back his jacket to reveal a small, rectangular canvas pouch attached to his belt. Inside was a syringe and several vials. “I’m going to tranquilize him, get him off this boat, and get the information I need from him.” He waved his fingers to demonstrate exactly what he meant by that, though he couldn’t hide his grimace of distaste. Mind magic on the unwilling left him feeling soiled down to his very bones, but part of being High Warlock was making the unpleasant choices.

“I don’t even want to know where you put that to get it past security, do I?”

A delighted grin broke over Magnus’ face. “I can’t believe you just said that. Let me bask in this moment.” He paused, closing his eyes and basking. “Okay I’m done. I’ll have you know that it was easy. They were more concerned with checking me for magical artifacts than mundane sedatives. No one ever checks for mundane things.” Hidden in his jacket pocket, his fingers toyed with the trick dice he’d used at the table earlier. Perfectly mundane yet perfectly effective.

“I still think this is a stupid idea.”

“You’ll be my backup. Never fear, Raphael, I don’t plan on taking on a murderous Shadowhunter in hand to hand combat on my own. He’ll be asleep before he even knows I’m there.”

“Good.” Raphael nodded. “Keep in contact. If I don’t hear from you in an hour I’m coming to get you.”

They went their separate ways. Magnus found himself seeking fresh air outside on the balcony, looking at the city lights scattered across the blanket of dark sky. The wind whipped at his hair and rattled the chains of his necklaces. Below, the river water churned as the massive boat cut through the water. It was a much-needed moment of peace in the chaos, a temporary lifting of the burdens that dragged him down as surely as the river would suck him in if he fell. He could afford to take this moment before he plunged back into the chaos this night would no doubt bring.

The muffled scuff of a footstep on the deck was his warning before the back of his head exploded in pain.

Magnus staggered forward, catching himself on the railing even as his magic tried and failed to flare up around him in protection. The world spun and when it righted, he was standing upright, pinned by an arm pressed into his throat. Gasping for air that wouldn’t come, he twisted in the chokehold, kicking at his attacker’s shins in a way that should have been effective but wasn’t. His head rang and his body felt like it belonged to someone else, his movements dizzy and uncoordinated. The arm around his neck may as well have been an iron band.

With a grunt, he slammed his head backwards into his attacker’s nose. It was a last-ditch effort, done more out of stubbornness than intent, but he couldn’t deny the rush of hearing his attacker’s ensuing curses. At least now, when someone asked what happened to him, he could confidently reply that they should see the other guy. Broken noses weren’t a good look on anyone.

Unfortunately, satisfaction didn’t stop the black static that crawled around the edges of his vision, growing like a cancer until his eyes were as useless as the rest of him. Magnus’ last thought before slipping unconscious was that next time, he was putting the loophole into the wards.

.

The moment he left the craps table, Alec found himself trapped in a never-ending parade of introductions, small talk, and uncomfortable attempts to avoid the dance floor. Particularly that last one. One more coy request for a dance, and he was going to march himself out on deck and jump overboard into oblivion. At least then he’d be out of his misery.

Footsteps approached and he tensed, pasting on the fake grin he’d worn all evening, the words of a polite refusal on his lips.

“You know you look creepy when you smile like that, right?”

Alec relaxed. It was only his sister, and he never had to put on a pretense for her. Carefully running a hand through his hair, he let his shoulders slump just a little. “No one else seems to think so. They all either want to gossip or dance.” He made a face to show exactly what he thought of that.

Isabelle gave him a nudge. “You know, if you’d take a few of them up on it, the rest would settle down. They’re only so persistent out of curiosity. You’re not exactly known for your outgoing persona.”

“I’m not dancing,” was all Alec had to say on the matter. “Besides,” he added, her earlier words catching up with him, “my smile isn’t creepy. It’s politics.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it? Playing politics. Because from where I was standing, you and Magnus Bane were certainly playing something earlier.”

“He’s a murderer,” Alec said, rolling his eyes. “The only interest I have in him is catching him in the act so I can lock him up for good.”

“I’m sure he’d let you detain him if you asked nicely,” Isabelle said with an amused smile. “I heard from the grapevine his tastes are,” she tapped a finger against her chin, “wide-ranging and excessive.”

“Please don’t say things like that,” he muttered. He could already feel the heat on his face and he hated it. His reaction to Bane was a moment of weakness, was it too much to hope that his own sister hadn’t caught him staring like a teenager with his first crush?

Not that his attraction to men was a secret, to his sister or anyone else. One of the first things Alec did after being named Head of the Institute was to set the record straight about himself. Or well, not straight, in his case. It was an unorthodox move, but he was secure enough in his power and his position that he could afford to shake things up and live openly. There wasn’t a day gone by that he regretted his decision. He only wished it had come with the accompanying storybook happy ending. It was life’s biggest joke that Alec had overcome his worst adolescent fear only to still end up alone.

Luckily, Isabelle hadn’t caught onto his change in mood, gleefully continuing her line of thought. “I’m not saying it, I’m  _ repeating  _ it. Don’t worry, if I thought Bane had actually charmed you, we’d be having a much different conversation. It’s just that…” she trailed off, biting her lip, and Alec realized he was wrong about his sister’s lack of perception. “You go on dates, but you don’t enjoy them. And then you spend all night alone in your office romancing your reports. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you pretended to look at him.” She shrugged. “I just want you to be happy.”

Alec didn’t answer. Partly because he had nothing to say, and partly because he hadn’t been pretending. What did it say about him that the only man who drew his attention was a monster? Perhaps he was destined to be alone.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he changed the subject instead. “Did you learn anything from your Downworld contacts?”

Isabelle’s face grew somber. She had been involved with one of the earliest victims and his death had hit her hard. Alec should have benched her, but with Jace visiting the Krakow Institute with his parents for the next month, there was no one else he trusted at his back.

“I didn’t learn much,” she admitted. “No one knows anything, and everyone’s scared they’re going to be next.” She rolled her eyes. “Like half the people here have anything to worry about.”

It was true. All the killings were of relatively ordinary to mid-ranking people within the Shadow World. It made what happened to Meliorn even stranger—he was a high-ranking Seelie Knight and his death didn’t fit the pattern of the other killings.  The inconsistency was a constant itch at the back of Alec’s neck but no matter how often he turned the pieces over in his mind, he couldn’t figure it out.

“Either way, be on your guard. We don’t know what to expect.”

Isabelle nodded. “Are you still planning to talk to the werewolves?”

“Yeah.” He looked towards the ceiling and groaned. “Just what I needed. More small talk.” He had already taken statements as part of the official investigation but he was hopeful that a more informal setting, and the drinks that came with it, might yield better information.

“You underestimate yourself,” Isabelle said with a pat to his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on Magnus Bane. If he goes off with anyone, I’ll call you.”

Glancing towards where he’d been keeping half an eye on Bane by the bar, Alec felt a spike of concern at the realization that there were now too many people to tell if he was still there. “Better move quick, we might have lost him. And remember, don’t let him see you.”

Isabelle ran a hand down her form fitting dress, shaking her head like Alec had said something funny. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Knock ‘em dead, big bro.” She paused. “But not literally.”

Alec shook his head at Isabelle’s poor taste in humor as they split up. He’d heard something earlier about a group of werewolves smoking cigars at the back of the boat and it was as good a place to start as any. He wrinkled his nose as he made for the exit. He hated cigars. Too many years as a child, and then a teenager, watching old men in secluded rooms make decisions and knowing that because of who he loved he’d never be accepted into their ranks. Despite making it to a position of power, he still keenly felt his differences. The cigar smoke was yet another reminder that things would never be easy for him, no matter how good he was at his job.

Bracing himself for the chill air, he stepped outside and headed up a level.

He was halfway to his destination when an arm locked tight around his neck, jerking him backwards. His instinctive shout never hit the air, muffled by a hand slapping over his mouth. Years of training took over, his body moving without needing to think. He jabbed an elbow behind him, following up with a stomp of his foot as he pitched himself forward. 

Ideally, his attacker would have gone sailing over his shoulder. Preferably off the side of the boat. Except this party was neutral ground and his runes weren’t activated. Alec was strong, even without the added boost, but so was his attacker. And like himself, the man was trained. The weight of him barely budged under the onslaught.

The silver glint of a needle caught the light, making Alec jerk away within the confines of the man’s grip. At the same time his hand flew out, catching the wrist with the syringe before it could plunge into his neck and end the fight for good. It was getting harder to breathe, black spots dancing in front of his vision. He put all his strength into a last-ditch attack with his elbow and felt the satisfaction of a pained grunt coming from behind him. Twisting, he broke the hold on his neck and took a gasping breath of cold air, hands braced on his knees. The moment his lungs were filled, he dropped to the floor and kicked his attacker’s legs out from under him. Scrambling, he climbed atop him, pinning him on his back and getting his first good look.

The man snarling beneath him was stockier than Alec, with close shaven dark hair and a thin, angular nose. There were no piercings or visible tattoos. With a grunt, he broke Alec’s grip for another attempt with the syringe. A harsh backhand was enough to knock it from his grip, and Alec didn’t hesitate to follow it up with a slam to his head that knocked him into the deck hard enough to stun.

Quickly rifling through the man’s clothes yielded nothing save for a small vial of clear liquid and a hotel key card. The name printed on the plastic advertised the Metropolitan Hotel, which was strange. That was a common meeting spot for the Seelies, but this man wasn’t a Seelie. Setting the thought aside for a more appropriate time, Alec tucked both items into his jacket.

Was this how the killer was subduing his victims, by drugging them from behind? It didn’t make sense; there were no puncture marks on the previous victims. Why change the approach now? More importantly, was this the only accomplice Magnus Bane had, or were there more? Alec had been so focused on Bane that he never stopped to think he might not be acting alone. For good reason. Warlocks were famously solitary and none of the crime scenes had pointed to more than one killer.

The sharp clicking of someone running in heels caught his attention and Alec cursed, shaking the last of the dizziness away and preparing for a second fight. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the cadence of those particular heels.

Isabelle was breathing hard, her normally impeccable hair windswept by the elements. “Alec. Oh thank the Angel, I thought—” she stuttered to a stop when she saw the man pinned beneath Alec. “That’s not Magnus Bane.”

“What?”

“It’s why I’m here. Magnus Bane’s gone, I can’t find him anywhere and you weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“Bane? I haven’t seen him.”

The man on the floor smiled. “You’re too late.”

Alec glared. “Too late for what?”

But the man said nothing else, not about who he was or where he planned to take Alec or where Bane was hiding, no matter how hard Alec and Isabelle pressed him. As much as Alec wanted to give it one more try, a quick glance at his watch told him that they’d already wasted nearly an hour. They needed to find Bane before he killed again, if he hadn’t done so already. With nothing else to be done until the boat docked, he tied up his mystery attacker with his own clothes and left him in a storage room with a bunch of life vests.

“This isn’t over,” Isabelle said as they rushed back to the banquet hall. “Magnus Bane is planning something.”

Alec cursed as they found themselves going in circles. “All these damn corridors look the same.” He rubbed at his eyes. Away from the public areas, the hallways were narrow and the walls were a garish orange. Just looking at it gave him a headache. The steady hum of the boat engines wasn’t helping.

He paused, listening. There. A rhythmic pounding, too distinctive to be part of the background din, came from behind them. He heard it again, closer this time. “Someone’s following us.”

They halted, and Alec strained his ears, wishing for his stele and a hearing rune. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied. Only one person was in pursuit.

He pointed down the left side of the hallway where it branched, then back to himself to let Isabelle know he was heading back towards the banquet hall. Or at least, where he hoped the banquet hall was. Pulling her in, he pressed the vial he’d taken from his attacker into her hand and whispered, “Go grab a lifeboat and get back to the city. We need to know what’s in this vial. I’m putting you in charge in my absence.”

“Alec, no—”

“You’re the best forensic expert in the city. I need you to go be that.”

She looked at him, tight-lipped, but understanding. “Fine. But if you get yourself killed, I’ll never forgive you.”

Alec’s only response was a brief hug and one last squeeze before pulling away and heading down his side of the corridor. He ran, making no effort to hide his footsteps. Better to draw attention to himself and leave Isabelle a smooth getaway.

The trailing footsteps kept pace. He could hear the panting breath, the palms slamming against walls to take the corners faster, the closing distance at his heels and he rushed down a flight of stairs. He put on an extra burst of speed, ignoring the burn in his lungs and the ache in his legs. He had never missed his runes so much in his life. 

Only a few people turned to look at him as he burst through the door of the banquet hall. He flashed them what he hoped was a reassuring smile, well aware of his slightly messy hair and the flush on his neck. He was safe but not for long. Whoever was trailing him knew Alec was on to them. He needed time to regroup and plan, and he couldn’t do that without a little time to think.

The casino games were thinning out as more and more people filled up the dance floor. Any minute, the person chasing Alec was going to burst through the door. When that happened, he needed to be hidden, and what better way to do it than in plain sight. At least Isabelle wasn’t here to laugh at him as he grabbed the arm of the first person to cross his path, leading them both towards the center of the dance floor he’d been avoiding all night long.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off the door until they were hidden from sight by several other couples. As the sound system played the opening strains of a tango, Alec finally turned towards the man he’d inadvertently dragged into this mess, an apology for the abrupt treatment on the tip of his tongue.

The apology sputtered and died as he looked at his dance partner.

It was Magnus Bane.


	2. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

_45 minutes ago_

Magnus woke to the gradual awareness that the world was upside down.

Sensation returned to his limbs, a trickle roaring to life until his entire body ached and the pounding in his head rivaled the worst New York City construction sites. There was a heaviness in his arms, and when he blinked away the haze blurring his vision he saw why. Metal handcuffs circled both his wrists, glinting in the harsh overhead light.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Generally, he preferred to be asked about his likes and limits before this kind of thing. Being knocked out and slung over the shoulders of some unknown man was just bad form, even if that man had an admittedly great ass. In his partially upended state, Magnus was in an excellent position to judge. Not that a great ass would save him from retribution. Choosing the perfect hairstyle for tonight's party had taken Magnus hours, and he shuddered to think what it looked like after his ordeal.

Setting aside the travesty of his hair, he wrangled his stray thoughts towards escape. The steady hum of the boat was a reassuring background noise. Wherever Magnus was, he hadn’t been taken far. Rolling his wrists experimentally, he swallowed an annoyed sigh at the discovery that they were fastened too tight to slip out of. A setback, but one he could work with. At least the dizziness from his head injury was nearly gone. There was still a sluggishness clinging to his bones, but he’d pushed himself through enough heavy spellwork over the centuries that the sensation was almost a familiar comfort.

Unseen by his captor, a grin slid over his face. He had more dirty tricks up his sleeve than a pair of loaded dice, and whoever had dared attack him was going to learn that the hard way.

It was the oldest trick in the book to take out a powerful warlock by waiting in the shadows until they performed a sufficiently large spell. As a result, most warlocks of any prominence either learned to handle themselves without magic, or they were killed. Magnus was no exception. Being the leader of the second largest city in North America wasn’t all flashy parties and fawning adoration. He’d be dead more times than he could count if he couldn’t get himself out of a tight spot unaided. The earlier attack had caught him by surprise, but he was no longer off his guard.

Taking advantage of his admittedly undignified position, Magnus shot out with both hands right between his attacker’s legs. Finding his target, he squeezed his fist and twisted without mercy.

The man staggered, a high-pitched scream ripped from his throat.

Magnus fell. Twisting, he landed on top of his assailant and threw himself forward, driving the chain of his cuffs into the man’s windpipe. An answering punch knocked the air from his chest. Magnus wheezed but refused to be pushed off. Metal bit into his wrists as he pressed the full force of his body weight down, discomfort blossoming into white-hot agony with each passing second. Another hit landed on his ribs with a sickening crack. Followed by another, and another. He grit his teeth, ignoring the pain and redoubling his efforts. Eventually the blows grew weaker, the attempts to buck him off more uncoordinated. Finally, the man stopped moving at all.

Gasping, Magnus slumped, tension draining out of him as he struggled for breath. “Look who’s still got it,” he mumbled, wincing at the wreckage of his own voice and the lance of pain radiating from his chest.

It had been ages since he was in a purely physical fight and he was more winded than he remembered. Perhaps it was time to get back into regular practice. Letting out a breath, he grimaced as it agitated what was probably a cracked rib. The huff of air turned into a string of swears when he reached into his pocket for the sedatives he carried, only to find them gone. No doubt taken while he was out. The night had barely begun and already his plan was unraveling. At least Raphael wasn’t there with his _I’m disappointed but not surprised_ face.

In Magnus’ defense, he hadn’t expected Alec to send thugs after him. Alexander Lightwood had struck him as a man who did his own dirty work, and a frisson of unease crawled up Magnus’ spine at being so wrong. He needed to be more careful. Who knew how many others like the man on the floor were lying in wait.

A quick pat down of his assailant—disguised as a member of the waitstaff, he noted with some interest—didn’t yield his missing tranquilizers but it wasn’t a total loss, either.

“What do we have here,” he said, lifting a hotel key card with both hands from the inner pocket of the man’s cheap tuxedo.

The fancy print boasted the logo of the Metropolitan hotel. Something about that plucked at an old memory, hazy from disuse. Try as he might, he couldn’t prod it into anything more substantial. One of the many downsides of immortality. Reluctantly, he let it fade back into the ocean of half-forgotten moments collected over the centuries. It would rise to the surface in its own time, an old decrepit shipwreck washing ashore, but bitter experience had taught him it was a process that could not be rushed.

There was nothing else of interest on the unconscious man except for a second key, this one to the handcuffs. Freeing himself, Magnus rubbed at the side of his neck and debated his next move. He must have overplayed his hand when talking to Alec, because it was clear he was slated to be the next victim. An itch settled between his shoulder blades. No doubt Alec would try again, and this time he wouldn’t underestimate Magnus.

He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. The curse of immortality was a constant weight on his soul, a burden reminiscent more of drowning than freedom some days, but Magnus had no desire to face the end. Certainly not at the hands of some Shadowhunter. If Alec was going to fight dirty, then so was Magnus. And to do that, he needed unfettered access to his magic.

It was time to do what he should have done in the first place.

But first, a little housekeeping. Alec would figure out soon enough that his plan had failed, but that was no reason to be sloppy. It was short work to drag the unconscious man on the floor into an empty stairwell, but by the end Magnus was sweating, clutching at his injured ribs and cursing his own inattention that had allowed him to be caught in the first place. He'd have preferred to question the man, but wasn’t willing to wait however long it would take him to regain consciousness. Not when there was a chance Alec would get bored and turn his sights to one of the other Downworlders attending tonight’s party.

Taking a moment to orient himself, he hurried in the direction of the boat’s lowest levels, where the wardstone enforcing the neutrality spell was kept. Aside from himself, three other warlocks had lent their power to the evening’s protections. Magnus wasn’t nearly strong enough to break their combined magic, but he didn’t need to be. Strength was only one component of a warlock’s power. Or as the saying went, it wasn’t about size but how you used it.

He took a moment to center himself. To let go of the throbbing pain in his chest, the worry for his fellow Downworlders, and the helpless anger at his utter failure to help any of them. Distractions like those were a liability when it came to the type of delicate magic he was about to perform. He needed a clear head if he was going to walk out of it unscathed. With a final, steadying breath, he put his hands on the stone. The moment he made physical contact, the magic within it reacted, granting him access to his power for as long as the contact lasted, or until the neutrality spell was ended.

It was exhausting, tedious work but little by little, he slipped though the weak points in the joint spell, weaving threads of his own magic in his wake. It was a delicate balancing act without a safety net, the smallest misstep of which would send him plummeting. Falling until he hit rock bottom, except in this case, the bottom of the chasm was the gaping maw of the other warlocks’ magic, their combined strength enough to tear him to pieces if he fell into its trap.

As if from far away, he could feel the beads of sweat gathering across his forehead.

Eventually, he had enough of a foothold to support a backdoor for his magic, and he began the equally tedious process of retreating. Once he was sure his mind and magic were fully unentangled, he opened his eyes and lifted his hands from the wardstone. For a moment the entire world froze, and Magnus braced himself. A single mistake and the backlash would crush him with all the force of a collapsing building.

Like a string snapping, the connection broke, and Magnus swayed on his feet. When the ripples faded, his magic was once again humming unhindered through his veins. On its heels was a wave of fierce satisfaction.

He’d done it.

A little practical application of magic and his hair was fixed, the creases in his jacket were erased, and a simple temporary glamour hid the bruises he could already feel blooming around his neck courtesy of the initial attack on the ship's balcony. A little bit more and he sagged in relief as the pain in his ribs drained away, replaced by the tingling sensation of freshly knitted bone.

“Much better,” he told the reflection in his phone’s mirror app. The modern world was truly a marvel.

Looking at him, no one would suspect he’d just come from a fight. He'd have preferred to heal the bruises around his neck rather than hide them, but that would've meant expending more energy than he was willing to part with. As it was, the glamour wouldn't hold for very long, just long enough to get Alec Lightwood off this boat and salvage the remainder of his plan. It wasn't perfect but it would suffice.

Magnus was ready for war.

What he wasn’t ready for was being grabbed by the elbow right after reentering the banquet hall, and getting dragged towards the dance floor as the opening bars of a tango began to play. But even that was nothing compared to the jolt that went down to his bones when his impromptu dance partner whirled around.

Alexander Lightwood was standing in front of him.

The sultry melody clashed with the pounding in Magnus’ chest, each uneven beat sending a raging tide of magic into his palms. He clenched them shut, letting the tiny pinpricks of pain override the need to fight. Had Alec been tracking Magnus’ progress the whole time in some twisted game? Surely the Shadow World Slaughterer wouldn’t dare take a shot at him in public, the very same reason Magnus stayed his own hand. Or was this some kind of taunt, an attempt to throw Magnus off his game after he so easily escaped Alec’s first attempt at capture?

Around them, the dance floor came alive with entwined couples. The familiar chords of the tango seeped under Magnus’ skin, its rhythm and sway a balm to his agitated nerves. With a deep breath, he welcomed the music into his lungs, let the beat of it settle beneath his sternum like the old friend it was.

Facing his enemy, he felt every bit his old self. “Alexander. How unexpected of you.”

He’d been too preoccupied at first, but with fresh eyes, Alec looked...the only word for it was disheveled. If Magnus hadn’t been focused on the best strategy for surviving this encounter, he’d have said it suited him. Except for one little thing.

“Close your mouth darling. You never know what might find its way inside.”

Alec’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, though he remained wide-eyed. He was breathing hard like he’d been running, his bowtie askew and his collar wrinkled. Perhaps a quick tryst in a back room between murder plans or—

Peeking out from Alec’s collar were the beginnings of bruises on his skin. In the exact same place Magnus had choked out his attacker earlier. Had it somehow been Alec disguised beneath a glamor rune who knocked him out and dragged him away to be killed? How had he managed to circumvent the wards and activate such a rune? Magnus had seen no sign of tampering when he’d gone and done his own, but he was proof that the wards were far from infallible.

There was only one way to find out, and so Magnus stepped forward, an invitation and a challenge. “Shall we dance?”

Alec met his stare, his earlier surprise nowhere to be seen. A sharp smile curled like a knife at the edge of his lips. “If you think you can keep up.” Not dropping his gaze, he wrapped one arm securely around Magnus and took his outstretched hand with the other.

"I've been known to last all night," Magnus said lightly, as he led them in time with the seductive strains of the guitar.

To his surprise, Alec matched him move for move. Leaning in, Magnus brushed his lips against the shell of Alec's ear, words spinning like the finest of silk. “It’s not every day I wake up in handcuffs, you know. Then again, it’s not exactly uncommon either. But Alexander, as far as invitations go, it was hardly necessary. You have my number, and I already told you that you could be on top, remember?”

Alec looked at him strangely, shifting on his foot to walk backwards without missing a beat.

“Handsome and a good dancer.” Magnus remarked as Alec executed a textbook-perfect turn in his arms. It left him with his back pressed up against Magnus as they began the next set of steps. He let his breath ghost along Alec’s neck as he asked, “Any other hidden talents I should know about?”

With a small flourish, Alec bent his leg and twisted around so they pressed chest to chest. “Getting what I want. No matter what it takes.”

By now there was no doubt what he meant. Magnus was next on Alexander’s list of victims. “I’m flattered, but you’ll have to catch me first,” he replied.

Alec slid his palms up Magnus’ chest. “I will.”

Magnus’ body moved of its own accord, back arching to press further into Alec’s hands. The beat of the dance built, and he followed its currents. For all he despised everything Alec Lightwood stood for, he couldn’t deny the rush of matching wits against a worthy adversary. It was every bit as breathtaking as the anticipation of shaping a new spell between his hands. Except instead of magic at his command, he had Alec’s fingers entwined white-hot in his grip, the fire of him burning every bit as fierce as the power under Magnus’ control. Perhaps it made him a bad person, but in these last few minutes, he'd felt more alive than during the whole of the past one-hundred years.

“I know what you’re up to, and I’m going to stop you.” Alec whispered, like a promise.

“Better men than you have tried. Frankly darling, your chances aren’t looking too good.”

A hand traced down the length of his spine and Magnus shivered. Alec stepped in closer, sliding around in a half-circle to drape over his back, his other hand trailing behind him to rest over Magnus’ stomach. Magnus made no attempt to hide the answering thrust of his hips.

“I hope you’re enjoying your last night of freedom, Bane.”

This time the shiver down Magnus’ spine had nothing to do with pleasure. If Alec was truly the man that attacked him, he was now in the perfect position to plunge Magnus’ stolen sedatives into his own neck. That close to the heart, the drugs would take hold faster than any magic could burn them out. A halfhearted excuse about Magnus being drunk and desiring a private party, and no one would even think to stop Alec from whisking him off. Instead of following the current he'd let himself get swept away. He cursed himself for ten types of fool, though he never faltered in his movements as they continued to dance.

It was a relief when Alec completed his circle and took his place once more in Magnus’ line of sight.

The dance may have been a mistake, he conceded. No cheap thrill was worth risking his life, no matter how attractive the packaging was. He needed to focus, get whatever information he could out of Alec before the song ended, and then sweep him off someplace private and knock him out. If only they weren’t on a damn boat. Otherwise he’d simply portal them away and deal with the problem on his own turf. Damn the Seelies for insisting on a water venue as part of the security measures.

“What do you know about the Metropolitan hotel?” Magnus tried a different line of inquiry as he maneuvered them around another couple and towards the other side of the dance floor.

“Why do you care about the Seelies?”

The Seelies. Magnus could have hit himself if he didn’t have his hands full of one hundred and ninety pounds of attractive Shadowhunter who wanted him dead. “The Metropolitan hotel is a back door into the Seelie realm,” he muttered.

He’d long suspected but had never been able to confirm it. But he knew he was right, in the same way he knew when he was onto a discovery of a new magical property, or when a potion was on the right track despite having the wrong smell and consistency. The Seelies. He hadn’t thought of it before but they were a common thread. Insisting on having the yearly meeting on the river. The Metropolitan hotel. Proposing the wardstone as a means of security for the party.

Magnus took a long step back, Alec moving with him. Around them, the dance floor was thinning out, more and more people electing to watch the two of them rather than partake. If Alec noticed their growing audience, he showed no sign of it.

“Why do you care?” Alec asked. “Lost your key card?”

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same.”

Confusion entered Alec’s face for the first time since they began to dance. Shifting his arm to trail down Magnus’ neck he leaned in close. Shielded by their jackets, he fished his hand into his own jacket and flashed a familiar piece of plastic at Magnus.

The forest green of the Metropolitan hotel.

Alec’s eyes bored into him. “How’d you know I had it?”

Magnus stared. That wasn’t possible. He’d taken the card from a disguised Alec. Unless Alec had taken advantage of their proximity to pick his pocket. Magnus reached into the purple of his own tuxedo. But no, the card was still there.

He showed it to Alec. “I didn’t. I thought I’d taken yours.”

The cards were identical. If Magnus hadn’t taken it from a glamoured Alec, who had he taken it from? His original thought, that Alec had sent the man after him, no longer seemed like the obvious conclusion. A million theories raced through his mind and they all ended in the same place. Someone else had put those bruises on Alexander Lightwood’s pretty neck. There was a third party at play and Magnus had missed it entirely.

Alec’s expression darkened, his grip on Magnus’ hand squeezing like a vice. “I knew you were behind this,” he said, through clenched teeth. “I just didn’t think you were egotistical enough to brag about it.”

Magnus nearly tripped in his surprise, compensating with a dramatic lunge backwards that pulled Alec over his thigh.

“You think _I_ did this?” Magnus stroked a thumb across Alec’s neck over the ring of bruises.

Alec jerked backwards until he was no longer draped over Magnus’ leg. “Don’t play innocent with me. We both know I’m right.” His grip on their joined hands tightened until Magnus could practically hear the delicate bones of his fingers grinding together.

He smiled, refusing to give Alec the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. A little pain on the dance floor was hardly the worst thing he’d endured at the hands of a Shadowhunter. “I’ve done a lot of things, not many of them innocent.”

“Save it, I know you’re the one killing all those people. I’ve known all along,” Alec hissed into his ear.

_All those people._ Not only did Alec think Magnus attacked him, but that he killed…Magnus could barely finish the thought from the bitter tide of laughter bubbling in his chest.

“Typical Shadowhunter. Throwing accusations around with no proof. Nice to know nothing’s changed in centuries.”

“Nobody but you has the skills to pull it off, and—”

“Oh, are you going to pin every murder in New York on me because I have the means?” Magnus saw red. How dare he. With a twist of his hips, he sent Alec into a spin, taking advantage of the distance between them to shake out the ache in his hand.

Alec returned and they were once again pressed chest to chest. Alec picked up his tirade with barely a breath lost. “And you have the same key card as the one I took from the man who attacked me.”

“I have this card because I took it from the man who attacked _me_.”

This time it was Alec who nearly misstepped. Magnus caught him, turning it into an elaborate, improvised spin that ended with Alec practically swooning into his chest.

“Wait, what?” He looked at Magnus, wide-eyed and cheeks flushed. It shouldn’t have been endearing or adorable, considering how Magnus was still getting feeling back in his fingers.

How was it possible for a Shadowhunter—an irritating, obnoxious, incredibly attractive Shadowhunter—to be the very picture of adorable? Further proof that life, fate, and the universe all enjoyed laughing at Magnus’ expense. He shook his head at himself as he led Alec into the next set of steps. “It wasn’t me. And I’m beginning to think it wasn’t you, either.”

There was still a chance this was all a very elaborate head-game, but in truth Magnus doubted it. He'd seen the self-righteous fire of the Nephilim often enough to be convinced Alec's was genuine. Which meant Magnus had been chasing the wrong person this whole time. On the bright side, his attraction to the man in his arms was suddenly a lot less inappropriate.

He pushed away the thought of much less vertical tango and with a dramatic flourish, pivoted Alec outwards and back, finishing the move by smoothing his hands down the lapels of his dark jacket. As they joined hands once again, Magnus felt the shift between them and let it happen.

When they took their next steps, Alec was dancing the lead.

.

Alec started off simple as he led Bane around the floor. A classic, basic tango. Nothing fancy, just solid footwork and body control. The foundation of both dancing and fighting taught to every Shadowhunter trainee.

While his body danced, his mind raced with possibilities. At first, he'd been convinced the key card was proof of Bane's guilt, proof that he was in league with the man who had attacked Alec. But Bane had looked sincerely shocked at the accusations. Not just shocked. Angry. Combined with the claim that they had both been attacked tonight, the pieces of tonight's puzzle were coming together to form a completely different picture than expected. Both in regards to Bane’s supposed innocence, and the fact that he had the High Warlock of Brooklyn in his arms.

But if Bane didn’t do it, who did? It left Alec back at square one, with no leads and no suspects. He didn’t want to backslide but personal failure wasn’t a good enough reason to dismiss new information. And maybe he was overthinking it, maybe this wasn't back to the beginning after all. Surely the man in front of him had additional knowledge to offer, and there was no doubt that having a powerful warlock on his side could prove advantageous. If they were both chasing the same goal, logic dictated that their chances were higher if they worked together.

Or perhaps that was his libido talking.

He couldn’t deny that beneath the unsettling circumstances of this entire night, there was a heat simmering low in his stomach. Dancing was a common enough skill among Shadowhunters, but rarely did Alec get the benefit of such an accomplished partner. Bane matched his every move as easily as if Alec had announced them beforehand, following with the same smooth confidence he led with. The thought was gasoline set to the spark of interest Alec had been fighting all evening. Most men used to wielding power were too scared to give it to another, unable to command respect without a position of authority dropped into their lap. Not Bane. There was no struggle for dominance, no attempt to anticipate Alec’s moves and get there first. Just a natural responsiveness and willingness to go where Alec took him. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was a philosophy Bane applied to the bedroom as well.

With effort, he dragged his mind back to the matter at hand. “You thought it was me?” he asked. “The Shadow World Slaughterer, I mean.”

A muscle twitched at the corner of Bane’s jaw, like the name itself was enough to set him on edge. “As someone else told me tonight, you’re the only one I know of with the resources to pull this off.” His dark brown eyes reflected a core of steel, the kind forged in the hottest and most brutal of fires. Abruptly they softened, blazing heat banked to a simmering warmth. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

It took everything Alec had not to drown in the depth of that gaze. He needed a distraction, needed more time to think. So with a sharp spin, he switched their direction in perfect time with the music, letting himself fall into the more complex tango of his teenage years. The music swelled in intensity, his body moving automatically while his thoughts whirled. For once, his logic and his gut were saying the same thing, and admitting it didn’t feel like defeat. He poked at the thought from every angle, finding its strengths and its flaws before making his decision.

“I believe you," he finally said. "I’m not quite sure why, but I do.” Despite a small, lingering reservation in his chest, the words felt like a beginning, like for the first time he had a chance of ending this once and for all.

Bane laughed, soft and genuine in a way that echoed in Alec’s own chest. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said so far to me.”

For once, Alec’s answering smile wasn’t the fake one he’d been using all evening. “Don’t get used to it, Bane.”

“Really Alexander, I already told you to call me Magnus.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I prefer to keep things professional.”

“If you insist, Mr. Lightwood.” The edges of Bane’s lips curled into a smug grin. They were smooth and plump and just a little bit pink, like they had some kind of makeup on them, too. When Alec finally dragged his gaze upwards, it was to see Bane looking back at him like he knew every one of Alec’s secrets.

A change of subject was needed. Luckily, he had the perfect one. “So if you didn’t do it, who did?”

“I could ask you the same.” Alec opened his mouth to reply, but Bane beat him to it. “If I had to guess I’d say the Seelies are involved. There are too many events involving them for it to be coincidence.”

Alec nodded. “I agree. Now what are we going to do about it?”

“We?”

Instead of answering, Alec executed a series of dizzying turns that Bane pulled off with otherworldly grace, his jacket flying out behind him as they spun. The music came to an end just as Alec pulled him in, lowering him into a textbook perfect dip. Alec himself didn’t like to be dipped, could never shake the feeling that with his frame and his height, he would end up sprawled on the floor. The warlock in his arms, despite his large build, looked completely at ease.

Their eyes locked. This close, Alec could feel the heartbeat fluttering against his palm where it supported Bane’s back. He took a breath. “Yeah. _We_. Are you in?”

Bane’s smile shone full of promise as Alec guided him back upright. “Oh Alexander, I thought you’d never ask.”

They barely registered the applause from the other partygoers as they left the dance floor arm in arm. A distant part of Alec’s mind dreaded the gossip this was sure to cause. The Head of the New York Institute dancing a seductive tango with the High Warlock of Brooklyn after declining everyone else all evening. The entire city would know by morning. However, that was a problem for another day. Alec had more important things than his reputation to salvage.

Weaving their way through the crowd, he kept a steady eye out for his earlier pursuers but no one stuck out as being particularly suspicious. Whoever they were, they had gone back into hiding. He was just as aware of the arm tucked into the crook of his elbow. Bane stuck close by as they snuck away into a back hallway of the yacht. With him so near, it was hard to not replay their dance in his head, the way they fit like they’d known each other all their lives.

They neared the end of the hallway when Alec’s instincts flared to life, screaming out a warning. He threw a hand in front of Bane’s chest, halting him. “Wait,” he whispered. “There’s someone here.”

Before Bane could question him, Alec exploded into motion, diving around the corner and coming up from his roll with a man pinned face down beneath him. He had his fist raised to deliver a blow to the kidneys when a frantic voice stopped him.

“Alec, no! It’s okay.”

The distraction was enough for the man to buck him off. The world spun and when Alec’s head cleared, he was on his back with his arms pinned. Looking into the face of the man looming over him, a wave of dread ran through him. He recognized that looming face. Raphael Santiago, leader of the Dumort vampire clan, occasional ally and occasional adversary. The question was, which one was he right now? Alec braced himself for a hit. Even with the wards, the vampires still had an edge on speed and strength and this was going to _hurt_.

The blow never came, and instead the weight pinning him down lifted.

Cautiously, Alec got to his feet. The vampire was already on his, standing shoulder to shoulder with Magnus Bane. Alec looked from one to the other and crossed his arms. “What’s the meaning of this?” He shifted on the balls of his feet in case he’d misjudged Bane. If his earlier reservations were correct and this was a setup, Alec wouldn’t give in without a fight.

“I could ask you the same, Shadowhunter. Where were you taking him?”

Bane rolled his eyes, stepping between them, his face falling as Alec took a corresponding step back. “That’s enough from you both.”

He turned towards Alec, hands out in front of him like he was trying to talk Alec down despite Alec’s lack of weapon. “He wasn’t following us.” He frowned at Alec’s disbelieving snort. “Fine, he was. But only because he was concerned for my welfare.” Alec couldn’t see Bane’s expression when he turned towards Raphael, but Alec assumed it was similar to the one he’d gotten. “And you. I told you not to follow me.”

“I don’t have to listen to you when you say stupid things. And going off alone with him,” dark eyes looked suspiciously at Alec, “was the height of stupid, even for you.”

The tension flowed out of Alec’s shoulders. Not too long ago Bane thought he was the murderer. It stood to reason that his friend—for it was clear that’s what they were—would think the same.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Alec said, getting both their attention. “And I didn’t kill all those people.”

“You told him?” If anything, Raphael looked even angrier as his curses shifted from Bane's intelligence to Alec’s ancestors and eventually to Alec himself in a steady stream of Spanish invectives. Some of them were more anatomically plausible than others, and Alec made a note to remember the best of them to share with Isabelle and Jace later. Eventually, that too petered out into the familiar glare Alec recognized from previous negotiations as being Raphael’s default expression.

“So, you two know each other,” Bane asked, though it was less of a question than an observation.

Alec answered anyway. “Our paths crossed when Raphael took control of the Dumort Clan.”

“But that was years ago,” Bane said. “You weren’t in charge of the Institute back then.”

“I was Acting Head. And unlike some people, Raphael actually returned my phone calls instead of sending me straight to voicemail.”

Bane fiddled with the ornate cuff clipped high on the shell of his ear. “I was busy.”

“For three and a half years?” In truth, Alec stopped being mad about it ages ago. But something about Bane made him want to tease. Made him want another glimpse of that wide-open smile that transformed his whole face into sunlight.

“Very busy,” Bane amended, poorly hiding a grin as both Alec and Raphael turned to glare at him.

While Bane caught his friend up on what they’d learned from each other during their dance, Alec checked in with Isabelle, who had managed to track down Alec’s mystery attacker. As expected, there was a hotel reservation that matched the keycard in his pocket. And that wasn’t all.

“A mundane?” Alec asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Alec.” He could practically see the pursed lips of Isabelle’s disdain through the phone. “And he checked in with two others. Also mundanes.” She gave him a brief overview of the three. A doctor working at Beth Israel, a computer engineer, and an ex-Navy security consultant. None of the three had any prior interaction with each other before they appeared at the Metropolitan hotel together. Unsurprisingly, it was the ex-military man who was identified as Alec's attacker.

“This keeps getting weirder. What are the Seelies doing with mundanes?”

“We don’t know if the Seelies are involved. The hotel could be a coincidence,” Isabelle said, but Alec could hear the doubt in her voice. She didn’t believe it any more than he did. “It gets worse,” she added. “I analyzed that sample we found on our security consultant, and as far as I can tell, it’s some sort of virus. And get this, the doctor from the hotel is a specialist in infectious diseases. Dr. Nigel Stephens, according to his Instagram page.”

A notification popped up on Alec’s phone and he clicked on the link Isabelle messaged him. The page loaded, displaying pictures of a middle-aged man with dark hair and dark skin taking selfies with his dog. The only post of note was the one commemorating the two-year anniversary of his brother’s death.

“Looks like an ordinary guy,” Alec said, willing to bet that the other two people would look just as normal. “He’s making a virus?”

“Not alone, he’s not, this is too big for one person. I’m looking into his contacts, trying to find out who he may have used to farm out the research. The virus is a variation of avian flu so I’ll start there, find out who else has that kind of expertise.”

“Wait, that bird flu thing the mundanes were panicking over ten years ago?”

“They had every right to panic. It was deadly and so is what’s in that vial. Or at least, it will be. That’s the weirdest part. It’s currently inert. You could swallow it all and it wouldn’t do a thing. But there’s something else in there I haven’t been able to crack. Some kind of magic. I called in a warlock and—”

“You what!” Alec fought to keep his voice low. “Isabelle, I told you we can’t trust anyone on this.”

“And you also told me to take lead, Alec. I made the call. I’m an expert in my field, but my field doesn’t include magic.”

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, but his sister wasn’t wrong. “What did the warlock say,” he asked, resigned.

“It’s a very specific type of magic. She thinks it’s functioning as a lock. Our best guess is that it needs one last component that will activate it, and that the component is some kind of genetic key. Ms. Haight, our warlock, warned that it’s a long shot because any spell that could do that is either too old or too illegal. But it’s not out of question. We both know Magnus Bane’s been flaunting Clave laws for centuries, legality's never stopped him before.”

Alec ignored the part about Bane for the moment. “You’re gonna have to say that genetic key thing in English, Iz.”

“Let me put it this way. If you took my hair and put it into that vial with the right magic in the right way, then the virus would kill me but no one else. Or maybe you want to target just women. Or just people with Lightwood blood.”

“Or just Shadowhunters,” Alec added. The corridor suddenly seemed much colder than it had a moment before.

“Yeah,” Isabelle agreed. “I don’t know what’s going on but whatever it is, it’s a lot bigger than a string of murders. We know the victims were missing for at least a day before they turned up. What if whoever’s doing this was trying to find that missing component.”

“One of the warlocks was missing his horns,” Alec mused. “A vampire had her fingernails clipped. Blood and hair could have easily been taken without us knowing.” A sick feeling settled in Alec’s gut. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. “Take a team to the hotel and see what you can find. Have another meet us at the harbor when we dock. And Izzy, be careful.”

“I always am,” she said. “That goes for you too.”

“We will.”

There was a pause before Isabelle responded with, “We?”

Alec glanced over towards where Bane was still talking with Raphael, his hands waving to underscore whatever it was he was saying. The glint of his rings caught the artificial light of the hallway and Alec quickly looked away. “Yeah, I’m, um…I’m working with Magnus Bane.” He didn’t know why the statement caused a flush to rise onto his face, but he was grateful his sister couldn’t see. She’d never let him hear the end of it. “He didn’t do it. The murders, I mean. It wasn’t him.”

Izzy didn’t say anything at first, and Alec knew she was thinking about Meliorn, the Seelie who had captured her fondness if not her heart. Ever since his death, she’d been pushing herself too hard. “That makes sense considering everything we just found out. But that doesn’t mean he’s not working with whoever’s involved in the magical component. I trust your judgement, Alec. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“He was attacked around the same time I was.” Alec wasn’t sure why he was so adamant in defending a man he barely knew, in needing Isabelle to believe. “He found the same key card I did on his attacker, too. And I saw his face when he said he didn’t do it. He’s not involved.”

“He could have easily faked all that and you know it.”

Alec sighed, answering with a soft, “I know.” He rolled his shoulders, thinking of Bane calling off Raphael. “But he’s already had a shot at me and he didn’t take it.”

“Alec, I’m on your side, okay? Do you know who attacked him? Was it the same person as you?”

“No, I—” Alec paused and put his phone on speaker. Bane was alone, he noticed. Raphael must have gone off to do who knew what.  “Bane, over here.”

“Magnus,” he corrected, waving a finger adorned with a sheath ring so sharp Alec was surprised it had cleared the rigorous security screening process. Nevertheless, he did as requested.

Alec made the introductions over the phone.

“What can you tell us about the man who attacked you?” Isabelle asked.

“Average height but largely built, blond hair cropped short, white, terrible acne, mid-twenties give or take a couple years. He didn’t have any information other than the hotel card.”

Isabelle sighed. “Not much to go on. I can set up a video call with a sketch artist but we don’t have the kind of time for—”

“Would a picture suffice?” Magnus asked.

Alec frowned. “You took a picture of him?”

“I take selfies with all my assailants, didn’t you know?” Bane said with a smile. “I’m a warlock, darling, remember?” And with that he put his hand to his temple and shut his eyes. A blinding flash sparked at his fingers, and when it cleared there was a piece of paper in his hand.

A photograph, Alec realized, as Bane took out his own phone and snapped a picture of it.

“Now, who should I text this to?” he asked, waving the phone. “Would it be too forward to ask for your phone number, Alexander?”

Over the phone, Isabelle’s laugh rang out like a bell. “I like him, Alec.”

Alec bit his lip before he could say something embarrassing like, _me too_. He did, however, put his number into Bane’s phone. After ending the call, he had to ask, “How did you do that with the photograph?”

“I thought we went over this. I’m a dastardly warlock.” Bane wiggled his fingers. “Magic comes with the territory.”

Alec’s gaze was once again caught by the rings adorning his elegant fingers and he hastily looked elsewhere. What was it about Magnus Bane that captured his attention and refused to let it go? It couldn’t just be his looks. Alec had met plenty of attractive men and never once lost his objectivity. But something about Bane – the graceful way he moved, or the depths behind his eyes, or the way he acted like he was in on a big joke no one else knew about—captured Alec’s attention in a way he’d long since given up on ever experiencing.

Whatever it was, he needed to get it under control. There were more important matters to consider. Matters such as, “How are you doing magic with the neutrality wards up?”

There it was again, that amused smile that went all the way to the crinkles around his eyes, hinting at the countless secrets simmering under his skin. “I didn’t appreciate being attacked with my magic under lock and key. So, I unlocked it.”

Alec’s surprise only lasted a second, before he remembered who he was speaking to. Bane’s file at the Institute spanned centuries and all of it indicated the man possessed a well of immense power and skill. It was one of the reasons Alec had suspected him in the first place. It also reminded him of his own irritation with tonight’s security measures. He had agreed to them when they’d first been proposed but that was before he found out how much else was at stake. “You’re lucky, then. I wish I had my stele.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” The teasing smile melted off Bane's face as he tensed, lips pursed and suddenly hesitant. “About your stele. I may be able to help with that.”

Alec didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I thought you couldn’t make portals surrounded by water like this?”

“I can’t. But I can summon.”

“Summonings require exact knowledge of the location of the object,” Alec recited from memory. His knowledge of warlock magic was limited, but his early education covered the fundamentals.

Bane nodded, looking unsure of himself for the first time all night. “That’s correct. I would need a little help from you.” He paused, fiddling with his rings. “You’ll have to show me where it is.”

“Show you? How could I—” he remembered Bane pulling a memory from his mind onto paper and recoiled. “You want me to let you read my mind? No. Definitely not.”

“Think of it more like email. I don’t need to be inside your head, just connected to it. All you have to do is visualize the location of your stele, and then,” he made a gesture with his hand like throwing a paper airplane, “send it to me.” He paused. “You’ll have to let me form the bridge but it’s surface magic. I won’t be able to see anything you don’t want me to see. You have my word.”

Alec’s breath caught, a steel band pinched tight around his chest at the mere thought of what Bane was proposing. It went against every instinct he possessed, against an entire lifetime of training. And that was assuming Bane’s word was good, that letting a warlock build some mental path into his head wasn’t the magical equivalent of kicking open the door guarding his innermost secrets. It wasn’t just Alec’s personal privacy at stake. As the Head of the Institute, he was entrusted with secrets at the highest level. Secrets that a powerful warlock might not be above lying to get at. Except underneath the alarm was a whisper he couldn’t ignore, a tiny voice saying that the offer was genuine and that Bane's word was every bit as good as Alec's own.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, “Could you summon my bow and quiver as well?” Maybe he was looking for a reason to say no. Maybe he was gauging the limits of Bane's strength. Maybe he was just curious.

"You're asking quite a lot."

"Can you do it or not?"

Bane raised his chin. “Yes.”

He hadn’t been looking for a reason to decline, Alec could admit, now that his answer was staring him in the face. He’d been looking for a reason to accept. Maybe it was the softness in Bane’s eyes when he smiled, or the way his jaw clenched in uncertainty while awaiting Alec’s answer. Or maybe Alec was just an idiot falling for a pretty face, in the way he always teased his siblings of doing.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Bane’s face slackened in shock, but he quickly composed himself. “It will help if you don't fight me while I form the bridge. Once that's done, you need to think about the location of each item. The exact room, every detail, like you’re standing right next to it. Can you do that?” He didn’t bother asking if Alec was sure, which he appreciated.

Alec nodded.

“Very well.” With that, Bane extended a hand, fingertips hovering above the skin of Alec’s temple but not yet touching. “May I?”

Alec closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come. This was his last chance to back out. “Do it,” he said, quickly. Before he changed his mind.

Soft fingers brushed against his skin and a cool wave of calm followed. It sunk into him like a gentle stream winding through a peaceful forest, nothing like the piercing violation he was expecting. There was no sense of his innermost thoughts being ransacked, no unwelcome intrusion. It was almost easy for Alec to let himself relax, to let the magic in and not fight the foreign presence in his mind. Soon enough there was tug deep within his mind, a tether anchoring itself within his thoughts. The other end snaked off into a foggy distance that could only be Bane’s mind.

Alec shuffled through his memories, bringing up the image of his room in the Institute. He saw in his mind the crisp folds of the comfortable linens and the clean surface of the bedside table, the artfully worn rug he’d bought with Isabelle on a whim in Chelsea Market, and the photograph of his family he kept alongside his books. He could see the way the room was open and airy and felt like home, the vision as clear in his mind's eye as if he was standing there right this minute. He did the same for his weapon, locked away in the weapons cabinet deep inside the Institute. He gathered up every detail and pushed it across the connection. Gave it all to Bane.

The tether in his mind stilled, absorbing the memory but going no deeper, as promised. A minute or an hour later, he couldn’t be sure, there was another tug deep within his mind. A tree being pulled from the ground, taking its complex system of roots with it. Then there was nothing but a gaping sense of being alone in his own head.

“I believe this belongs to you.” The smooth tones of Bane’s voice made him startle, eyes snapping open. He didn’t remember closing them. The sights and sounds of the real world rushed in, louder and harsher after the soothing presence of magic. When his vision settled, he was staring at his stele in Bane’s outstretched hand, his bow in the other, and his quiver dangling by its strap from his forearm.

Taking each object one by one, Alec was keenly aware that Bane had likely seen these same weapons used against him and his people more than once in his long history. Yet here he was, offering them freely. Something warm unfurled in Alec's chest, a gentle, blooming thought that his strange trust in Bane might possibly be reciprocated.

“Thanks,” Alec said, once he had all three objects in his possession. “How much do I owe you for this?”

Bane froze, as if he was caught off guard by the question. “Free of change,” he finally said, his shoulders swaying from side to side like he was still hearing the music from earlier.

There was no time for Alec to wonder about the strange reaction.

It was time to get to work.

.

Magnus would be lying if he said he didn’t watch Alec shuck off his jacket and roll up his sleeves to activate his runes. He’d certainly be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the flex of muscle as he twisted those deliciously long limbs to run his stele over his back. Sue him. Magnus was a High Warlock, not a saint.

It certainly didn’t hurt that Alec had offered him payment for services without being threatened into it. Had offered him _thanks_. It had been so long since he’d met a Shadowhunter that made him want to run towards them instead of away. He wasn’t sure what to think about it. Far simpler to focus on Alec's muscles.

“Need any help with those hard to reach places?” Magnus asked, schooling his features into the picture of perfect innocence when Alec glared back at him.

Except it wasn’t quite the angry scowl he was expecting. Beneath the pinched brows and pursed lips, Alec looked almost bashful. But no, that wasn’t it either. There was nothing bashful about the strength of his gaze. It was something else. Something Magnus couldn’t quite place but knew he wanted to see more of.

“I think I can handle it.” Alec said with a roll of his eyes that shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was. “Not my first time.”

“With your stele?” Magnus asked, drawing out the word to leave no doubt what kind of long, hard object he had in mind.

Alec rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard more mature jokes from my younger brother. A little credit, please.”

It was hard to imagine serious Alec Lightwood making immature jokes with another Shadowhunter, younger sibling or not. But somehow it also fit. Alec was stoic and had the subtlety of a brick wall, but there was an underlying kindness to him that Magnus kept catching glimpses of, a hint of softness peeking out through the cracks of his personality. The contradiction was a siren song that Magnus couldn’t help chasing.

That didn’t mean he could resist making the obvious joke. “Is this where I’m supposed to say there’s nothing little about me?”

Alec put his head in his hands. “Please don’t,” he mumbled through his fingers.

“Rest assured, it’s not true.” Magnus said. “My patience, for example, is downright minuscule. The rest of me however…” he let the sentence trail off, delighting in the not so subtle glance Alec swept over his body.

“Let’s solve these murders so we can both go home.” Alec paused, but instead of being embarrassed about the accidental innuendo, the look etched on his face was heavy with intent. Whether it was intent to take Magnus home and do unspeakable things to him or plain old determination to find the killer, Magnus was uncertain. Personally, he hoped it was the former.

Rather than continue to tease, he took the cue to refocus on their task. There would be plenty of time for flirting later and he intended to make full use of it, but there were more pressing matters at hand. He wasn’t so lost in his thoughts that he failed to register the footsteps coming towards them. The heavy tread moved fast enough that there was no time for subtle magic. It would attract too much attention but it was his only option.

Magnus readied his power.

Before he could release the spell, Alec shoved him up against the garish orange corridor wall and kissed him. Magnus froze, the magic fizzling into his clenched hands. Soft lips slid against his own, the hand on his chest keeping him in place. Vaguely, he registered the warmth at the back of his head as belonging to Alec’s hand, cushioning him so that there had been no pain when he hit the wall.

The tiny gesture of kindness sparked something within Magnus, and he quickly got with the program, wrapping arms around Alec’s shoulders and pulling him flush against his body. It didn’t take a genius to realize what was going on. Not that he was complaining. As hiding in plain sight tactics went, this one rated full marks. Besides, it would be hypocritical of him to argue against mixing business with pleasure, considering what he got up to most nights at Pandemonium. Widening his stance in silent invitation, he tilted his head into the kiss until all he could feel, all he could breathe, was Alec. Alec pressing against him, Alec’s big calloused hands wrapped around the sides of his neck, Alec holding him still and devouring his mouth like a man starved. The rough pads of Alec’s fingers stroking along his jaw, setting his skin on fire.

A leg pressed between his thighs, sending a rush of pleasure up Magnus’ spine. He gave himself up to it, each roll of his hips sending flashes of heat along his skin where Alec rubbed against him. Fingers clenched tight into Alec’s jacket, pulling him closer to where Magnus wanted him.

This was no longer about hiding, and from the way Alec was gasping into his mouth, they were on the same page. He couldn’t wait to try this with Alec for real. He’d take him to dinner first, something hedonistic and decadent, and then take him home and take off every piece of clothing, take him apart as he begged for—

Coherent thought scattered as Alec did things with his tongue that were surely in violation of the Accords. He was still struggling to pull himself together when the pair of men stopped staring and ran past them without another glance. Magnus caught a glimpse of their uniforms and relaxed. Part of the yacht’s staff, not their pursuers at all.

The second they were out of sight Alec jumped away like he’d been burned.

All of Magnus’ plans for future flirting turned to ash. The pleasant tingling of his skin twisted inward, cutting like knives into the cracks he’d unwittingly exposed. His skin felt stretched too tight across his body, and only the wall at his back kept him from stepping away. If Alexander was that disgusted by kissing him, Magnus would gladly keep his distance. He wouldn’t be the first one put off by Magnus’ nature and he surely wasn’t going to be the last. The disappointment burned as he swallowed it, ignoring the way it seared all the way down in a much different way than the heat from their kiss. He’d thought Alec was different but it turned out he was just like the rest.

What else did he expect from a Shadowhunter?

His traitorous mind stared as Alec’s tongue darted out to lick at kiss swollen lips. Beneath the sharp tuxedo jacket and the tiny black buttons of his shirt, his chest heaved, and Magnus took a fierce pride in the knowledge that Alec might act repulsed at the thought of kissing him, but his body said otherwise.

“Bane, look—” He took a tentative step forward, but froze when Magnus jerked sideways, putting several steps of empty space between them. Even after having Alec's tongue in his mouth he was still _Bane_. Good enough for a distraction but not for anything else.

“Don’t waste your breath. You made yourself clear, Shadowhunter.” Vaguely, he wondered if his own lips were as shiny and red as Alec’s. He resisted the urge to wipe his hand across them, to wipe away the evidence that he’d allowed Alec so close.

Alec looked like he’d been slapped, mouth hanging slightly open. Magnus hated himself a little bit for being charmed at how innocently off balance he looked. It was just as well that in the next second, Alec’s spine snapped straight, his hands clasped behind him so tightly his shoulders practically vibrated. “Clearly, I didn’t,” he shot back. “Because I’m trying to apologize and you’re throwing it in my face.”

Magnus sneered. “Yes, I can see how sorry you are. Lowering yourself to kiss a warlock must have been very traumatic for you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Only words? I think we’re a bit past _words_ , darling,” Magnus said with a leer. A flash of satisfaction ran through him as he watched the barb land. It loosened something in his chest, like he could finally breathe again.

“I’m not sorry for kissing you,” Alec blurted out. A flush of red crept us his neck. He shuffled his feet, looking at the hideously carpeted floor. “I’m sorry for not asking first. But they came up on us so fast and I didn’t have time to warn you. That’s why I stopped.” He cleared his throat and his voice was stronger when he added, “I don’t care that you’re a warlock.”

Oh. Magnus ran a hand along the long chain of the necklace dangling over his chest. The tension at the back of his neck drained away, leaving him slightly dizzy. In its wake was a wave of embarrassment about how quickly he’d jumped down Alec’s throat. Metaphorically speaking. He was hardly embarrassed about the kiss. “Well then, in that case, no apologies necessary. For the record, I thought I was pretty obvious about liking it.”

Alec gave a small smile. “I’ll remember that.”

Magnus stepped away from the wall, putting a deliberate sway into his hips. “Next time, it’s my turn to think of the distraction. Not that yours wasn’t a good idea. I almost wish I’d thought of it first.”

Alec laughed. “That wasn’t how I wanted to kiss you for the first time.” His eyes went wide, jaw shutting with a tiny clicking noise, but he didn’t take it back.

“Is that so?” And wasn’t Alec Lightwood full of delightful surprises. “In that case, we’ll have to try again.”

The corner of Alec’s lips quirked up and it took everything Magnus had not to reach out and touch, now that he knew exactly what those lips tasted like. “Yeah, that sounds good, but—”

“But murders first,” Magnus finished for him.

That settled it. Not only did his life and the life of his warlocks hinge on finding the real murderer, but his love life did as well.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat at me!. I'm on [tumblr](https://lynne-monstr.tumblr.com) and twitter


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